


Caught in a World with No Shield

by flyingwide



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A Statement Made Them Do It, By an Eldritch Fear Being that Everyone is Sort Of Used To, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Porn with Feelings, Under-negotiated Kink, consensual voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22040290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingwide/pseuds/flyingwide
Summary: “S-statement ends,” Jon stuttered eventually, shifting in his seat. The movement made him suddenly, intimately, aware of a part of his anatomy that he usually didn’t give much thought. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered to himself then spoke up a little for the recording, mostly on instinct. “I’ve gotten used to the... physical element of recording statements, the sustenance and energy. It stands to reason that living for a moment through someone else’s… lust might have a similar affect.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 18
Kudos: 350





	Caught in a World with No Shield

**Author's Note:**

> "Hey, Z, can you write anything that's not porn with feelings?" Nope, sorry, not sorry.  
> Well, it's the end of 2019, I have written so much but posted nothing all year, so have an offering from my brand new fandom.  
>  **Just a note:** this can be read as dubious consent, as most "Something Made Them Do It"/sex pollen fics can be, but wanted to make clear that there's no external force, just an external nudge.  
> Set nebulously in the back half of S3.  
> Title unashamedly stolen from "Surrender" by Cash Cash ft Julia Michaels

“The hunt took us across counties, across borders. But I knew that in the end, he didn’t want to kill me. We just wanted the chase to never end. And when he finally caught me, as I knew he would eventually, when I spread my legs for him and let him in, I knew the chase would begin again just as quickly as it ended.”

Jon was silent for a moment, chest heaving as the feeling of someone climbing inside him drained slowly from him. “S-statement ends,” he stuttered eventually, shifting in his seat. The movement made him suddenly, intimately, aware of a part of his anatomy that he usually didn’t give much thought. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered to himself then spoke up a little for the recording, mostly on instinct. “I’ve gotten used to the... physical element of recording statements, the sustenance and energy. It stands to reason that living for a moment through someone else’s… lust might have a similar affect.”

Completely unbidden, Jon’s hips jerked upwards, a memory that was not his own of being filled, of being taken, shot through him. “Terribly inconvenient,” he told the tape recorder, voice breathy in his own ears. “I’ll have to screen statements more carefully, especially the Hunt. The Hunt seems to have much less— ah! reliance on death as the end goal. The chase itself, the heart-pounding rush, perhaps even the blood, is the goal. The death is just the usual end. In this case...” Jon’s hand had wandered down to cup himself through his trousers, almost without his permission. He jerked, a moan that was mostly exhalation escaping him. “In this case, it ended in sex.”

He rubbed himself through his trousers, shifting in his seat. “When I spread my legs for him,” the voice still in his head repeated and Jon unthinkingly parted his thighs. He groaned and gave in. “You win,” he snapped, unsure if he was talking to the little plastic messenger for his god that lay on the table or his own body. Either way, he unzipped and the relief was instant, his cock tenting his pants but no longer held firmly by his trousers. He drew himself out, careful of the teeth of the zipper, and stroked himself once, biting his lip to keep from crying out.

“Voyeur,” he accused through gritted teeth, glaring at the tape recorder as it continued to spin. He considered stopping it but knew very well that it would turn itself on regardless. Jon stroked himself again, harder and faster. He usually got himself off quickly and efficiently on the occasions that his body demanded the attention and the statement hadn’t lent itself to the idea of a leisurely coupling.

Jon had just rubbed a finger across his slit, biting back a moan, when there was a knock at the door. “Jon?” he heard Martin call from the other side.

“Fuck,” Jon hissed, trying to tuck himself away, and looked for something to hide himself under but there was nothing. The only thing on his desk was the tape recorder and a stack of statements, the blanket he sometimes used across the room hanging from the coat rack. That’s what he got for at least trying to tidy down here. He settled for sliding himself forward under his desk as far as he could go, hoping the desk hid him.

The handle turned and Martin popped his head in. “Oh! Sorry! Thought you might have fallen asleep at your desk again. Brought you some tea and a sandwich. You haven’t been out in hours so I thought you might—“

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon said, voice clipped. He saw a slight flinch cross Martin’s features, barely there, and wondered with a pang of guilt how many times he had put it there and missed it entirely.

“Right. I’ll just...” Martin approached and set the dishes down with a soft sound. He opened his mouth to say something then closed it with a frown. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jon lied. “Why?”

“You’re a bit,” Martin gestured to his own face, “flushed. You don’t have a fever, do you?” Before Jon could protest that he was healthy (indeed, he hadn’t gotten sick since he became the Archivist), Martin was around the desk and pressed a hand to Jon’s cheek.

A loud moan ripped itself from Jon’s throat and he leaned into the touch, eyes closing. As soon as Jon realized what he had done, he jerked back, eyes wide. Martin’s shock mirrored his own, his hand hanging in the air between them. “I...” Jon tried to explain but he saw in Martin’s face the exact moment he looked down and saw Jon’s cock, clearly hard and straining even through his pants. “It was a statement. His lust was...” The words had sounded so much better in his own head, much less like he was as voyeuristic as the god he was bound to.

“Do you want me to...” Martin gestured to the door.

“No!” Jon said, so loudly they both flinched. “I’m sorry. I, I mean, you’re under no obligation to stay, I don’t think we have an HR department anymore if you were thinking of reporting me and I’d prefer you not tell Elias, though I imagine he already knows—“

“Jon,” Martin interrupted. “You’re babbling.” Jon immediately shut his mouth. “I’m not going to tattle to Elias. You’re fine. Can I?” Martin reached out with a steady hand and placed it to Jon’s cheek again. Jon whimpered, back arching as much as it was able to in the chair as he chased the physical contact, leaning hard into Martin’s hand. After a moment, the hand left his skin and Jon gave a pathetic bereft little noise that he knew he’d be humiliated by later.

“Hush, love, I’m just locking the door.” The lock gave a little click and then Martin was back in front of him. Instead of putting his hands back on Jon, he pulled the chair back from the desk and swiveled it towards him, giving Jon no place to hide. Before Jon could protest, Martin cradled his face again and Jon’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Do what you need to. I’ve got you.” Jon whimpered and did what he was told, wrapping a hand around himself once more. His hand was jerky and his grip too lax as he pulled at himself, only serving to ramp him up. He leaned as far as he could into Martin’s hands, eventually resting his head against Martin’s chest as those hands petted at his face and hair. Martin whispered praise and affection but didn’t offer to take Jon in hand himself. Jon was to the point where he wanted to beg for it, to ask Martin to step closer between his spread legs, to close his fist around him. It felt... too invasive. Not Martin invading into Jon’s space but Jon invading into Martin’s. It was already crossing so many lines, just asking Martin to bear witness to this, and he couldn’t ask for more.

Jon focused his attention on the head, thumbing the slit before returning to the root and stroking upwards again, trying not to jerk his hips up when the edge of his nail caught on tender flesh. He was making so much noise, moans and whimpers as he pulled at himself. The only other sound was Martin’s shallow breathing, his exhale sending the hair on the top of Jon’s head fluttering. He wondered, if he tried, if he could hear Martin’s heartbeat, feel the life pumping through him. Face burning, Jon suddenly remembered that the tape recorder was still rolling, no doubt catching every pathetic noise that dripped from him. He’d have to destroy it. But then he’d have to record it again and what if it had the same affect? Jon groaned, stomach clenching.

He was close, he realized, though it had taken so much longer than it usually did that some part of him feared it would never end. “Please please please,” Jon mumbled, not cognizant of the fact that it had been out loud until Martin asked him what he needed. Jon brought his head up, off of Martin’s chest, and spread his legs wider in the chair, even bringing one knee up so that his heel rested on a cardboard box full of files that rested against the wall behind the desk. Martin just stared at him until Jon pulled at his belt loops, not stopping until Martin was between his thighs, holding them open wide. Jon’s hips hurt and he realized with some annoyance that he would have sore muscles in his hips and stomach when all of this was over. Tensing and releasing in turn, Jon tried to stifle the undulations of his body even as everything screamed at him to pull Martin closer, to pull him down, perfectly closer, so that he could…

Jon forced himself away. He leaned back against the chair, dropping Martin’s belt to pull at his hands again, placing one back on his face. The other hand Martin placed on the edge of the sturdy desk, holding himself up as he leaned over Jon, still murmuring praises as Jon jacked himself. They were tipped back in the chair, Martin leaning over him. Jon was afraid that the chair would fall, that Martin would collapse on him. Just about the only way this could get worse is if they fell, arse over teakettle, and Jon came like that, on the slightest touch from Martin.

Martin’s knee came to rest on the chair between Jon’s thighs, keeping his balance while still only touching Jon’s face. He opened his eyes, locking his gaze on Martin’s and almost cried out again. There it was: the intensity he’d been missing, the feeling of being flayed alive under a knowing gaze. Martin had him pinned, cornered, though it had been Jon’s engineering that had made them that way.

“Martin,” he mumbled. Martin smiled.

“Go on, love,” he answered gently. “You’re just there.”

Jon jerked and thrashed as he came, breaking eye contact to throw his head back, barely aware of the noise he had made until he came back into his senses and realized his throat was raw. His second point of awareness was his hands, one covered in his own emission and the other clenched in the fabric at the shoulder of Martin’s sweater. He flushed deeply as Martin straightened again, gaze casting about the room.

“Do you have a towel or anything?” Martin asked. “Anything besides the blanket. Though I suppose it could use a wash anyway.” Martin stepped back from Jon, slipping from between knees that Jon hadn’t realized he’d clenched around him. He brought back the blanket and knelt in front of Jon, cleaning his hand gently. “Should I?” he asked, gesturing with the blanket towards Jon’s softening cock. Jon couldn’t speak, body still racked by trembles every few seconds. He nodded and Martin gently wiped at the head, setting off another round of shivers. If he hadn’t been watching Martin so closely, he might have missed that he surreptitiously wiped at the knee of his own trousers. Jon’s stomach dropped with something he couldn’t name when he realized that when he’d pulled Martin closer, when he’d come, it hadn’t been just on himself.

“Are you all right?” Martin asked eventually when Jon attempted to curl into himself. Jon kept his eyes downcast but shifted towards a sitting position, humiliation burning as he tucked his cock away.

“Physically unscathed,” Jon said, warmth rising in his cheeks. “Extremely embarrassed. Clearly I need to build up defenses. Other people’s... Let’s just say it’s unfamiliar territory for me.”

Martin nodded, looking down at his feet. He bit his lip for a moment, releasing it just a shade pinker than before. Jon opened his mouth to apologize but Martin got there first. “Can I... can I ask you a personal question?”

Jon tried not to wince. “I think you’ve earned a few.”

Martin flushed and Jon knew he wasn’t looking any better. “Ok. It’s just. So Basira said that Melanie told her, well, that Georgie had said—“

Jon had to try not to laugh despite his still-roiling emotions. “Is this a game of Broken Telephone or a question?”

Martin ducked his head but he wore a slight smile. “Sorry. _I’ve heard_ that you, um, that you’re,” he said as he looked up, smile replaced by something like trepidation. “Uninterested in sex.”

That was not what Jon thought he was going to say and he hated the weird little jolt of humiliation, of guilt. There was nothing wrong with him, he reminded himself. “I’m not,” he said curtly. “And Georgie should know better than to gossip about me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to be the center of office gossip.” Jon frowned, wondering if he was talking about this workplace. He realized with a start that it was, that Jon had heard it too. Martin’s crush on him. He tried to relax his suddenly clenched fists, noticing that Martin was still talking. “I just ask because it makes it worse, doesn’t it? What the statement did to you?”

“I...” Jon started to say before his brain caught up. He considered his words carefully; Martin had had his permission to ask and Jon found he wanted to give him a truthful answer. “It means I had really no defense against a lust like that. I’ve never felt anything even close to that strong.”

Martin looked down at his shoes, hands worrying themselves in front of him. “I’m so sorry, Jon,” he said miserably. “I... took advantage of you when you couldn’t—“

“Now hang on,” Jon said sharply, cutting him off. “You didn’t take advantage. If anything, I took advantage of you, requesting you stay. I pressured you into it.”

“You told me I could leave,” Martin protested. “I made the choice to stay because I thought it was helping—“

Jon wanted to put his hand on Martin’s cheek, to force him to look up at him, to _listen_. A new and worrying want. Something to think about later. “And you’d do so much to help me. I know. You’d never tell me no when I needed you, would you? Even if I didn’t compel you.”

Martin let out an angry little sound, finally making eye contact. “You didn’t _compel_ me. I know what that feels like.”

“That didn’t answer my question. Would you tell me no? Would you feel like you could?” Jon resisted the instinct to put force behind the question, the push of compulsion as easy as breathing now.

Martin shifted again, looking away for a moment before turning back to Jon. He exhaled slowly then said, “I didn’t want to say no.”

Jon watched him for a long moment, the tension firmly holding Martin, before he sighed. “Fine. If you insist that you don’t feel taken advantage of, and I swear that I certainly don’t, then we can agree it was consensual?”

Martin still looked unhappy but nodded. “Yes.” A flood of warmth crashed through Jon’s entire body.

“Good,” he said, pushing the feeling away. He wanted to thank Martin but knew that would just start the whole argument again. “I will be more careful in the future,” Jon offered carefully instead.

Martin began speaking almost before Jon had stopped. “Will you do something for me?” he asked, tone tense. Jon braced himself. For what, he wasn’t sure yet. He nodded anyway. “Stop. _Doing_. That.”

Jon blinked at him. “What?”

“Stop treating me like I need to be handled, coddled. Like I’m some ten year old who wandered in here one day. I’m an adult, in case you hadn’t realized. I don’t need you to protect me from myself. I’m responsible for my choices. Not you, not Tim, not Elias, or Basira or Daisy or Melanie. Not the bloody fucking Eye. Me. So I need you to respect me enough to acknowledge that.” Martin’s voice, clear and firm, only slightly wobbled over ‘respect’.

Jon’s stomach turned over, guilt an acid inside him. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I do respect you. And I… I trust you. I-I’ve made the choice to trust you. It’s just. I sometimes have a hard time showing it. And this was… I feel guilty.”

“Don’t,” Martin said. He sighed heavily. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I. This was something, something that happened _to_ you, something you didn’t have a say in, and I’m making it all about me. I made you feel guilty when it’s you that this is all happening to—”

“No but you were right—” Jon protested. Jon’s hand fluttered uselessly on the arm of the chair, moving toward Martin. Martin took a step back.

“I’m… I’m going to go now. You should probably too, take some time away from here.”

“Martin.”

“I’ll see you later, Jon.”

The heavy wooden door closed softly behind him. Jon exhaled, all the energy leaving his body with the rush of air. He slumped back and gazed around the room, eyes landing on the still-spinning tape recorder.

“Fuck off,” he snapped and forced the stop button down.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. If you want to reach out, I'm occasionally on tumblr as flyingwide but much more often on twitter as @berryreaction. Come say hi!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Caught in a World with No Shield [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172459) by [litrapod (litra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litrapod)




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